


A Life Beyond Our Fall

by doodlebutt



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reborn AU, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebutt/pseuds/doodlebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reborn AU. Work in progress, kinda angsty, same characterisations/backstory as "All the Pieces of Our Lives".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nerdanel

It began with Findaráto, of course. First and most honourable of Arafinwë’s children, bearer of the title “Faithful” even in his exile – he had abstained from nigh every misdeed of the Noldor, and Nerdanel would not allow his return to give her hope. She did not attend his welcome; her face would not have been a welcome sight at such a gathering (and certainly not with those of Eärwen’s people who would surely be in attendance). Instead she walked out in the forest beyond empty, dark Formenos, and allowed herself to weep for those whose return she could not wish for. Not until the world’s breaking would she see them again, and perhaps that was as it should be.

***

When Findekáno was sent back to them she knew not what to feel. It was the fading season, that time that drew nigh to winter, and she could see by the look in his eyes as he stood on her doorstep in the first flakes of falling snow that the Halls of Mandos brought healing but not forgetfulness.

“Nerdanel.” His voice did not seem to match the youthful, untarnished look of him, and her answering smile did not touch her eyes.

“Come in, Findekáno.”

They sat in silence for some time, watching the branches of the trees turn slowly white in the garden which encircled Nerdanel’s home. She did not need to ask why he had come – in his eyes was the trace of something not even Mandos could wholly wipe clean, and her own memories of his youth filled in the missing pieces of the tale.

It was a good thing, she told herself, that amidst the suffering there had been that piece of joy for them.

“I saw him, while I waited.” Findekáno’s voice was almost too loud in the snow-stilled air of the house, and it pulled Nerdanel from her thoughts with a pang of misplaced hope. The next words were quieter, and held things between them that would not ever be said. “He did not answer me. I do not believe he could.”

Nerdanel did not know what to say.

***

She smashed the sculpture she was working on when Fëanáro’s brother was returned; she told herself her tears were drawn by the dust of broken stone as she sank to her knees amidst the shards and hid her face.

_It’s not fair!_

That night she dreamed of those she had tried to forget.


	2. Ambarto

Ambarussa awoke amidst cold leaves untouched by the rising Sun. For an unmeasured moment he knew nothing at all, and as the light climbed higher above the bare branches of the trees only one thing was certain to him; he should not be alone.

It was not until the Sun sank to the horizon in a burst of orange and red that his memories returned.

It _hurt._

And when he came back to himself, the sky was dark save for the unreachable stars.

***

The path from the forest seemed long and tiring to his new body. New it must be – of the wound he had received in Alqualondë there was no trace, and that had been one sure to leave a scar. And besides, there had been the flames.

He supposed he must call himself Ambarto now. Ambarussa had been _their_ name, and now there was no more _them._ The loneliness of it made him ache, though of course his fëa now was whole alone – otherwise he knew he would not have been returned. And as for Umbarto: that name reminded him only of his end, and this must be a beginning in all ways.

He did not know where the road was taking him – a road it was in truth now, grown wider and smoother than the path it had begun as – but he knew he must follow it to its end. As he walked, he realised that the loneliness he felt was not entirely due to the absence of his twin; every link or bond he had ever felt was wiped clean, every connection to family and friends was gone – he was utterly alone. And something inside him whispered that those connections could not be remade, that he was the only one of his brothers to now live, and he knew it was not wrong.

He had seen their fall, after all. He had watched from the Halls as their lives burned around them, as they did deeds he could not now bear to recall – and he knew he would almost certainly never see them again. Even their spirits had not found him; perhaps they could not, and perhaps that was for the best.

***

The grey house before Ambarto held an air of sorrow. It stood alone, at the end of a worn-away track lined with small golden flowers. The door was small for a house of that size; dark wood with finely carved detail now worn to near-smoothness by the passage of many hands – this place had seen more guests than it now held. A trailing vine with dark white-veined leaves climbed up over the walls and encircled each window – and the windows themselves were all dark save one high upon the eastern side which shone with yellow light in the growing dawn.

The dawn –

Ambarto looked to the East, and saw there in the sky above the rising Sun that light which he had sworn his very soul to.

He had known it would be there, and yet still it stole his breath and left him dizzy with something he could not name.

As his mother opened the door beside him the name of _freedom_ presented itself to him. As they embraced and he felt her tears warm on his skin he decided it was correct.

He was returned; he was free.


End file.
